The Ring of Vine-Snaked Pillars (25)

The enclave was a place most would want to avoid wandering into.

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The heat of the tropical evening sun beat down on me at once, instantly oppressive. The enclave of the farsending circle merely a ring of pillars, a place most would want to avoid wandering into. Dust caked the tiled floor and vines snaked around the pillars, from light, into shade, into light again. A small red bird chirped behind me, but turning my head to look had startled it, and it flew away. 

The farsending enclave sat beside a wide avenue lined with palm trees. Behind me, three roads converged at the foot of this avenue, bringing some travellers. Across the short avenue, another farsending enclave stood empty, awaiting an inevitable arrival. 

A little ahead of me, the avenue led to a gateway as big as a castle, nestled in massive stone walls stretching right and left into the distance, ostentatious in its utter opulence, painted in bold blues and reds, contrasting with stark white stonework accents and the glimmer of golden statues. The gateway to a nation that wanted you to know just how grateful you should be at being allowed entry.

I laughed quietly at myself. 

A short line formed closer to the monstrous edifice, consisting mostly of common folk leading laden wagons pulled by cattle, or pulling smaller carts by hand. 

In front of me was a dark-skinned local of some means, carrying his jewelry in a brazen show of self-confidence. He wasn't built like a warrior or a wrestler, so I could only imagine he had Arts to protect his overt wealth.

Ahead of the rich man were a party of pale-skinned foreigners, either northerners or easterners, in sensible travelling gear, who talked quietly among themselves. 

One of the northerners kept glancing back at the rich man, obviously stunned by the sight of so much gold, and undoubtedly covetous of it, hoping some trinket might fall that he could somehow intercept and claim, or else weighing his chances in combat. Perhaps in isolation, the two men would have had a fair duel, but here before the gates, and more specifically the guards, a duel would not be permitted to reach any natural conclusion. The northerner perhaps realized that the guards would intercede on behalf of the rich local. The whole idea was doomed from the start, and the northerner must have eventually realized as much, as he managed to stop staring, looking ahead instead.

One by one, these people were interviewed by the border guards, and one by one each party was allowed to pass. 

Behind me, other travelers had arrived, a lady with long blonde hair, wearing a diaphanous robe. I was incredulous that she wasn't burning in the heat. She seemed impervious to it.

Behind her, a ruddy Vereth in unusual dress, suggesting he was from the eastern kingdom of Vereth, but far from home in any case.

And then a party of easterners sidled up behind the Vereth, with just the slightest hint of Alfarishness about their eyes.

My time had come while I was distracted, and one of the guards barked an unfriendly command in a language that was still opaque to me. 

I smiled and held out my arms, my empty hands, and said plainly, in my most careful Courtly Abrilian, the only language I thought we might share, "I am Araled of Azillan, recently escaped from your Folly prison. I am turning myself in. I am at your mercy."

Continue reading with Part 26.